Dear John
by castielsangelicdemoness
Summary: Post- Reichenbach... John finds out that Sherlock fakes his death. Sherlock left him a letter explaining everything, and then Sherlock shows up, effectively crashing his own Memorial. M/M pairing, JohnLock...
1. John

**Dear John: A Sherlock/John fanfiction**

**By: Lila Rose**

_***Disclaimer* I own nothing. Rights for Sherlock belong to Mark Gatiss, Steven Moffat, BBC, and Arthur Conan Doyle. Characters may not be mine, but this story is. Please ask before posting it anywhere else.**_

Dear John,

If you are reading this, then I must have died trying to beat Moriarty at his own game. Which I did, at great cost to everyone involved, including you. I know you haven't returned to our flat, or else you wouldn't be reading this. I admit, the way I said goodbye wasn't the best way, but it was the only way at the time. Jim said that he would give me a moment alone, and then proceeded to blow his brains out. The only way to save you was to perform a magic trick. A trick, John, that's all it was. "DO one thing for me, Sherlock, don't be dead." I believe those were your exact words. Do one thing for me, John. Return to 221b Baker Street.

Goodbye John,

SH.

That was Sherlock's official last goodbye, and it turned me into a weeping mess, and the daily visits to his grave weren't helping things either. In short, his suicide was quite possibly the worst thing that had happened to me, especially since I was lost without him. Best friend, secretly the man I loved, and partner in crime. I wished beyond the shadow of a doubt that he hadn't jumped, that he hadn't decided to make me watch, and that I hadn't been able to do anything about it.

_It had been a long day, and we had still more running to do, so when Sherlock realized that I was limping more than usual, he reached out and grabbed my hand. Dark hair and icy blue eyes bore into my memory, pleading with me to keep running. Our lives depended on that little detail; the fact that I needed to keep running. The look in his eyes told me that if I stopped running, he would too, because he didn't want to leave me behind. I would have run miles for the smile when he took my hand._

A knock on the door jolted me out of my reverie, and I knew it was time to deliver my memorium. My final goodbye to the man I had fallen in love with, and had been loved by in return, and it was only words. One step closer to a goodbye, and yet words were not enough closure.

"John. We're ready for you to deliver your speech." Anderson's voice came from the other side of the door.

"Yeah, I'll be right there." Wiping the tears from my eyes, I finished getting ready to give the speech. Walking out of the room and up to the podium, even with my cane, was the worst walk in my life. "Today we remember a very good man. My best friend, Sherlock Holmes, is dead." With that, multiple chimes went off throughout the crowd, and people pulled out their phones. Mine vibrated, and I pulled it out, and stared at the screen in shock. It was a message from Sherlock, and it was sent just a second ago. I opened it, and the first word I read was, "WRONG!" The last words I saw after that, that I can remember clearly were "John, look up."

Walking towards me, just as pale, just as dark, just as much Sherlock as before his suicide, there he was. He smiled, and held out his arms, as if inviting an embrace. I don't remember much after that for a little while, but I do remember running to him, throwing my arms around him in a hug, and saying that I'd never let him go. By this time everyone was staring at us, and Sherlock just stared right back.

"John, let's give Anderson a little bit of a show, shall we? Really make him think that I'm a vampire." With that, he bent my neck at a very odd angle, and drove his teeth against my skin hard enough to draw a little blood. When he finally pulled away, my neck was red and purple, and bleeding a little. His mouth had a little blood around it, and as he slowly licked his lips, I could literally feel everyone at my back shudder. Anderson ran out of the room with a horrified look on his face, and Sherlock led me out of the room, slowly. Still holding on to each other for support, we managed to make it to 221b Baker Street, and I had regained enough coherence to make him cringe. I was in a rage.

"While I am incredibly, and incandescently, happy that you are still alive, when I came to look for you, hoping that the body that was lying on the ground wasn't you, you were NEVER here. How do you explain that? I went to your grave every day for the past year, crying and ranting, pleading that it wasn't true, and yet you crash your own funeral. I hope this makes you ha-." I didn't get to finish that sentence, as he came closer and kissed me. When he broke it, he kept his forehead pressed to mine, and whispered a sentence.

"John, don't you understand? Everything that has happened in the past months has been for your own good, and I needed to see how much we needed each other. This past year has been a torture for me. When I was living under the London Bridge, fighting against death in Peru, standing on the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris, the only thing that kept me going was you." Sherlock was trying to keep me focused on something that was really important, but all I could think was that I'd had MY heart ripped out, almost like the same way Moriarty had described burning the heart out of my love.

"John? Where the BLOODY HELL is my brother?" Mycroft walked through the door swearing with a very upset Mrs. Hudson on his heels. When he saw the position that I was in; Broken-hearted Sherlock at my feet, me standing above him crying, Mycroft laughed. He actually laughed, and reminded me of our first meeting. "Should we be expecting the happy announcement by the end of the week? Sherlock, mummy has been very upset for the past year, and I think the possibility of a wedding would just cheer her right up! And before you ask, Sherlock; yes, the diet is going just fine." With that, he strode out of the room, pausing only once to look back at the weeping mess that was his little brother.

"Sherlock! You're home and safe once again. The past year has been the very worst, having to put up with Mr. I'm-Not-Heartbroken-I'm-Just-Drunk and the habits he picked up from you. Shots in the wall, curling up on the couch in his bathrobe, blocking out the world, helping the police with their cases. I think that last one he did hoping it would lead him to you." Mrs. Hudson rambled as she helped me get Sherlock onto the couch.

"Mrs. Hudson, can you get us some tea? Please?"

"Not your housekeeper, dear." She said it fondly, and reached out to stroke Sherlock's cheek. "Don't ever go where he can't follow again. It's hard having to take care of a man who has lost the one thing he lives for." Next moment we could hear her open the door, and she was bustling about her kitchen next door.

I looked at the man seated across from me, remembering how just yesterday that very spot had been empty of the man I loved, and on an impulse I leaped. I leaped from my chair to his lap, and I sat there like a little Koala, holding onto his neck. He nuzzled my shoulder and let out a sigh.

"As bad as everything seems now, John, it could have been worse. Moriarty threatened to burn the heart out of me. I have been reliably informed on many occasions that I didn't have a heart, and then I met you. The way he was going to burn my heart out was through you, by ending your life to try and make me love him." He kissed me, lightly at first, and then it deepened into a thirst for more.

"Tea's ready, dear. Oh my, I'll just leave you two alone." Mrs. Hudson had walked in, and though we sprang apart like two VERY guilty teenagers, it was obvious that she had seen more than either of us cared for her to see. Lestrade came through the door next, with Anderson and Donovan trailing after him.

"But how are you alive, Sherlock? I saw your dead body! I held John back when he tried to make it back to your body! How?" Lestrade was only slightly less stunned than the pair behind him. Anderson was red with fury, and Donovan was pale with shock. It wasn't fair to her that the one man who she had been slightly terrified of, just because he was a genius, and knew things about her, had come back. Poor, unfortunate soul. She didn't realize that she'd been played, because Anderson was still completely in love with his wife. Sherlock had seen this, and through his insights, so had I. This was somewhere only we knew, and I was happy to remember the very first time I had met him. He was so overconfident, and yet at the same, so ignorant. I had seen the look in his eyes when I had first tried to tell him I loved him. The animalistic hunger that burned from within shone out through the tempest that raged in his eyes. He had never had someone who had realized what it meant to truly be alone, and he was glad to finally have a friend who understood him, not judged him. My heart had shattered with his last words to me that day, and seeking the solace of another person didn't help. My heart had picked itself up, dusted itself off, and tried to piece itself back together. Seeing him, alive and well, had mended the cracks and missing pieces, and as we sat there laughing at the reactions on the faces of our coworkers, I realized just how much I really did love him. Unfortunately, he never really got around to telling me how much I had meant to him until right before he had jumped. Just two little words, words that had betrayed so much of what he actually felt, and I knew that it was never going to be a happy ending for me and Sherlock Holmes. Until today, that is.

"Anderson, Donovan, Lestrade, I want to cordially invite you to my annual Christmas-time party, and there will be a happy time for all. For one night, I intend to not work." Sherlock still had his head tucked against my shoulder, and my cheek was still pressed against his curls, but it was the most natural feeling in the world. Someone once told me that Sherlock won't say he's in love, ever. It was a miracle to get him to even have the emotions that ran as an undertow to his words. Those two words had ruined my heart for a long time, but now with him next to me, I can remember them without nightmares.

_ "This phone call, it's my note. Goodbye, John." Sherlock then dropped his phone, and followed it to the ground. Or so I had thought, losing my heart and head at the same time._

I was going to have to ask him about that, his little magic trick. I remember reaching out and taking his hand, praying for one last miracle, praying for him not to be dead. He would never have left me behind like that...

Reviews would be just darling Lovelies... Thank you for reading this.


	2. Sherlock

Sherlock,

I've gone out to go get some more milk and jam. Please don't leave.

Love,

John

It was the tone of the note itself that really made me feel terrible. I had hurt John, an act I never wanted to commit again. Hopefully, I never would have to do it again. The looks on his face when I walked in and held out my arms, when he thought I wasn't real, when he told me to he would never let me go again, and finally when we got back to the flat and he realized I really wasn't going to ever leave him again willingly; those are the looks that could thaw any heart. My brother is called 'The Iceman", and it's because he never lets anything get to him. Ever. But when he walked in and saw a crying John with me curled at his feet, broken, his heart thawed a little. There are things that you never want to see in your life again, and I think that he might have had this feeling in that moment. I sighed, because I knew that the moment I had another case thrown to my feet, it would be the life it was before Moriarty had burned me. Before I had performed the trick that had almost lost me the man I had come to love, and before I had even decided that I had loved him. Life without John really had been Hell, mainly because I knew what I had done would leave him heartbroken and without a friend to come home to.

John re-entered the flat grumbling about the machines at the store. He was infamous for his rows with the time-saver machines. I remember the first time I had sent him out for groceries when we had first moved into 221b Baker Street.

"Sherlock, can I borrow your card? Mine doesn't seem to want to work."

"What happened? You seem flustered."

"I had a row with a machine in the store."  
"You had a row. With a machine. In the grocery store."

"Yes, Sherlock. Can I borrow your card?"

"It's in my wallet. On the table."

"Thanks."

I smiled, and he knew why. Crossing the room, he put the groceries down, and then came to sit on the couch with me. I was watching "Crap Telly" as he liked to call it. He popped in a copy of "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" and we curled up on the couch even closer than we already were. This was LOVE. No matter what he said in the past about not being gay, and not being my date; we were here, closer together than we had ever been in public. Now the rumors could be confirmed, and the press was having a field day. I rarely left the flat anymore because of the press waiting outside, and Mycroft had bodyguards following John everywhere. Our lives where made a living hell everyday, and even Lestrade, when he did come over, came in the back way.

Now it's not a great secret that Lestrade and Mycroft were in a relationship, or that John's sister had a wife, but for some reason, our relationship exploded the media. Even the Queen, when she needed our help with a case, such as the case against The Woman, had her assistants call through the back entrance. No one wanted to admit that they still believed in Sherlock Holmes when everyone turned against him. Now that they know that I had 'died' to save the people closest to me, everyone wanted the full scoop on how I did it. But that was a secret that I was going to tell only to John. The only other person who had known about the plan was Molly Hooper, because she had been important... Even though I might not have ever shown her that she was, she had been very important to me.

"Sherlock, you're thinking too hard again. Tell me?"

"John, you wanted to know how I managed to survive the fall? It's long and complicated, but I can tell you if you want to hear it."  
"Please, Sherlock. I need to know how you survived that jump and why you did it."  
"Moriarty had told me that he was going to burn the heart out of me, remember? The day that he kidnapped you and strapped explosives to your chest? Well, he chose three people who would hurt me most if they died. He chose Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and you, John. As I tried to convince him that I would do whatever he wanted and to call off the snipers, he shot himself. Bullet through the mouth, and took with him the only way to save the three of you. The only other way to save you was to have the snipers see me jump, and I knew that if I went to the roof for that meeting, I was going to die. Molly assisted me by giving me a toxin that slows the pulse enough to make you seem dead, and then there was a fail-safe in case Moriarty had me jump. We had a spring board placed where I would land if I needed to jump, or if I was pushed off the roof. By the time you regained consciousness, Molly had time to smother blood all over me and make it seem as if I was really, truly dead. I hid out for a while, taking down Moriarty's network all over the world, making sure that no one would ever be stupid enough to ever cross Sherlock Holmes or John Watson ever again."  
"You did this to save us, and yet you have nothing to show for it?"  
"John, I have you. Mrs. Hudson is still here to take care of us if we need it. Lestrade and Mycroft are still together, because I sacrificed the only thing I thought I would never be able to recover."  
"What's that, Sherlock?"

"You. Or at least your love and trust. I thought that I had lost it all in one fell swoop."

"Sherlock, I'll admit, I spent some time after I thought you had died hating you. Then the anger and hate turned into how much I missed and needed you. After that, I started to see my therapist again. All she had to say was that I needed to find closure, and admit why I had stopped coming to our appointments."  
"And?"  
"I stopped going to them because I had you. And then you left, Sherlock. You left me here, alone, and it hurt like hell."  
"How about this, John? My promise to you, never to leave your side again. To take you with me wherever I go. I lived for a year without you, and that was the worst time of my life. So, John Hamish Watson, will you do me the honor of becoming my lawfully wedded husband?"

"Sherlock, I am either the stupidest man on Earth, or the luckiest. But yes, of course, I'll marry you."  
That's the way my life with John Watson as a friend, companion, and sometimes lover ended, and a new chapter began.


	3. John: Chapter 3

The next morning I woke up and began to panic, for Sherlock was not in 221b Baker Street. Looking frantically around the flat, I finally decided to call Sherlock's cell phone. When it went instantly to voicemail, I called Mycroft. Mycroft picked up after the second ring, answering to my call, while I sobbed brokenly into the receiver.

"Mycroft, please tell me- I can't have imagined- Please tell me it wasn't a dream. Tell me Sherlock's back."

"John. Calm down. He's here, with myself and Greg. There was a case that we needed his specific help for. Selfish bastard, I told him to leave you a message to prevent this panic attack. I'm going to send you two somewhere where you can discuss things without blowing up Lower London."

"Mycroft Holmes, inform your younger brother of the amount of trouble he is in for turning off his phone. And tell him that any disappearing acts he has planned need to be cleared by me, even if they can get me killed. I was a soldier, I killed people. I think I can take the stress of being in his life. And Mycroft? NEVER TAKE HIM OUT OF MY FLAT, MY BED, OR MY LIFE WITHOUT INFORMING ME PREVIOUSLY!"

"Indeed, I'll inform him of these things. And John? Don't threaten me." With that, Mycroft hung up, and I was alone in the flat watching crap telly for the time being.

"John? I'm home. Sorry, but Lestrade called me this morning with a lead on one of the men who had been instrumental in the threatening of your life. I couldn't resist going, and you looked to peaceful to wake." Sherlock looked worse than I had seen him in a long while. Hair was a mess, face drained of all color, eyes red as if from crying.

"Sherlock, next time you need to leave, at least leave a NOTE so that I won't panic. Again." I was so very mad at the gorgeous man in front of me, and yet it wasn't enough to make me walk out of the flat and go shoot something. It made me want to become a Koala and not let him out of my sight for the rest of the evening. I walked over to him, rose up on my toes, and taking the hint, he leaned down and kissed me. It held an apology on his part, and forgiveness on mine.

"Remind me to never get on your bad side again, John. I hate having you look at me the way you did when I walked through the door. Not exactly fantasy fulfilling, but a tad bit scary. Oh, the possibilities that doorway could have." Sherlock's grin was wicked, and the look in his eyes reminded me of someone I hadn't seen in a very long time. Of course, knowing Sherlock, she wasn't dead. "Love, the look on your face tells me you're thinking to hard on something. What is it?"

"Just remembering Irene and the predatory look in her eyes. You must have been in contact with her quite a bit recently. You have gotten the same look reflected out of your eyes." I was honest in my answering, even if it was just because he looked like I was about to tell him to leave and forget about coming back. "Is she invited to the wedding, Dearest? THAT would be a fun little trick to play on Mycroft, seeing as he thinks she's dead. Ooohh, we could introduce her to Harry. This could be so much fun." My eyes were dancing wickedly, and I saw him relax.

"I don't think your sister could handle The Woman, but if you want to get on the bad side of Clara, be my guest. As for Mycroft, he's being overly sentimental in the whole wedding business and wants to know if we could do a joint ceremony. Greg wasn't to happy about that, but whatever Mycroft says in that relationship goes, apparently. As for Mycroft not knowing about The Woman being alive, he now know, and apparently I will have to tell him how I did it. Saved her, I mean." The color had returned to Sherlock's face, and he was making snarky comments about his brother. He learned how to snark from me, unfortunately.

When we curled up in bed that night, content to hang onto each other, Sherlock's hands wound tightly around my own, trying to reassure me that he'd still be there in the morning. The wedding was fast approaching, but neither of us cared in that moment. We made a silent agreement that the night of the wedding would be the first actual consummation of our life together. Until then, we were content to lay in bed and listen to each other breathing, or tell stories of our days, or just cuddle. It was beautiful, and neither of us wanted our old companionship to end, but were both happy for the relationship it gave way to.

The next morning, I was up first. I made breakfast, sent Sherlock to work, and went to see Harry. My sister wasn't accepting visitors, so I went over to Clara's house. Clara welcomed me with open arms, and agreed to help me plan separate bachelor parties for myself and Sherlock. She was enthusiastic about helping, but wouldn't answer my questions about her and Harry, so after planning Sherlock's party, I went home to prepare for the New Year's Eve party that we were planning for the year anniversary of him being back. A year, and yet if he wasn't there when I woke, I feared that I had dreamed it. Jesus, Sherlock. What have you done to me?


	4. Welcome Mz Hyde

_**A/N: Welcome back lovelies! Here is the newest chapter! Sooo, Does anyone have any kudos for me? Questions? Comments? Love the fact that so many people are reading this! Enjoy.**_

_**P.S. Mz. Hyde is someone that knows John, Sherlock, Greg, and Mycroft personally. She actually knows the Holmes Brothers VERRY personally. Any guesses who?**_

SH: Come to Scotland Yard, if convenient.

JW: Kind of busy, Sherlock.

SH: It's okay John, Mycroft won't mind if you leave what your working on right now.

JW: No. It's not. It's not okay, Sherlock. There are lives at stake!

MH: He's right sherlock. He cannot possible leave at this point.

SH: Are you holding my Fiancee captive, Brother?

MH: Not really. He asked if he could help with anything, I offered to let him help me.

SH: Well, give him back. I need his insight on the "Ms. Hyde" case.

SH: Could get dangerous. ;) If inconvenient, come anyway.

JW: Be there soon, Sherlock. "Mz. Hyde" huh?

This is the way the rest of the day went for me. Starting with Lestrade ringing me first thing this morning telling me that there had been another killing, and that Anderson had talked him into hiding the first note from me. And then upon waking fully, realizing that John's side of the bed was cold, indicating that he had been gone for sometime, I felt confused. Where could John have gone this early in the morning, anyway? Mycroft texted me, letting me know that he had a job for John this morning, so I didn't need to worry, and to please not keep Greg waiting. Apparently he was a wreck when Mycroft woke up this morning, and was still practically in hysterics when he called me. This was going to be a wonderful day.

"Anderson, we can't keep him in the dark any longer! This one's directed towards him. We need him, and that means he needs all the details. If you're next, only Sally would mourn you at this rate. Now please, play nice with Sherlock, and bring me the ENTIRE case file! NOW!" Lestrade was getting slowly irritated with Anderson's incompetence and unwillingness to work with me. I had seen past his so called hatred of me, and refused to work with him as well. He thought that because his wife had found out his secret and left him, he could keep it better hidden from Donovan. "Sherlock, there's been another. She's taking them like pigs to the slaughter. This one's different, though. She said something about "blood is spilled by holding keys to the throne." Here's the rest of the note, Sherlock."

Blood is spilled by holding keys to the throne

Born again but it's to late to atone

There's a taste of fear when the Henchmen come

I am fit to tame them

I am fit to claim it all!

Ms. Hyde

(P.S. try to figure this one out, Sherlock, he's my next victim)

"Well , born again points to someone who has been baptised, so that could be anyone in England. Someone in a place of power..." I could feel what little color I had in my face leave it. The aptly named Ms. Hyde had given me a hint, and it had been staring me in the face. "Mycroft. She's going to take Mycroft." My irritating brother. The one person who had stayed beside me the entire time I was in a hard place. My annoying, powerful, head of the British Secret Service was the person indicated in the note. Which was pinned to one of his "Henchman's" coat. I may not always like my brother, but you don't mess with the Holmes brothers. We'd die for each other in a heartbeat, and fight for Mummy's affection's the next. Lestrade got led to a chair in the office, being practically unable to stand.

"She's going to take Mycroft. Oh God, help me Sherlock. Help me stop her before she takes Mycroft."

"Did he go to work this morni-" I was cut off by an alarm going off.

"Where is the alarm signaling? Which house or flat?" Lestrade was frantic.

"221b Baker Street and 10 Downing Street, sir. The homes of Sherlock Holmes and Mycroft Holmes. Both flats alarm systems tripped at the same time." David answered, quietly.

"When the Henchmen come... She took John because we're both using him as an accomplice to our separate investigations. She sees him as the prying Henchmen. She's taken them both, and we have to get them back." I was tearing up, and my silver blue eyes looked like mercury. Greg looked at me as if seeing me for the first time, and simply nodded, not trusting his voice. He looked, and saw me. He saw my determination, my resolve, call it what you will. She had taken everyone I loved, and everyone Greg loved, and was going to pay for this crime.

"Sherlock.." Anderson's voice came from behind me, and as I turned I saw Sally smile at him. "Anything you need on this investigation, just ask. She's made this personal. Moriarty made it personal. I'm sorry I didn't believe you when you said that you weren't behind the crimes that Moriarty committed. We, Sally and I, believed that it was just a way for you to make yourself more famous. Bigger than life, and then we found the body on the rooftop, found the recordings you had left going after you got up there. It was horrible, hearing the gunshot, listening to him make it impossible for you to stop him. When it happened, we patched into John's phone just in time to hear him yell, "SHERLOCK!" It made us rethink the way we all felt, the way we all thought about you. For this, I am sorry."

"Anderson, you really aren't as stupid as I say you are. She's waiting for us to make a mistake, to slip up." Grabbing my jacket, and looking at Greg, I ran across the room and grabbed his shoulders. "Greg, don't you see? HER mistake was thinking that I wouldn't recognize the patterns. Trace this number." Handing him a slip of paper, I point to what it says underneath it. "Greg! She took the most powerful man in Britain. He has an implanted tracker. Ooooh, she's clever, but not clever enough." I tipped my hat and ran out the door into the welcoming darkness that is Lower London.

_**A/N: Who could this be? You all should know this one. She's shown up before. In mentions, anyway.**_


	5. Better Run For Your Life

*DISCLAIMER* I do not own anything in this, except the storyline! Song rights go to: Love Never Dies, and THE GOD THAT IS ANDREW LLOYD WEBBER. he also belongs to himself. Please don't sue me.

Better Run For Your Life

"Sherlock? " I opened my eyes to more darkness. My head hurt, and I had a feeling that there would only be more pain to come. _Where am I? And who the hell was that woman in our apartment? She looked vaguely familiar. Sherlock would know who it was in a heartbeat, but I can't even recall what she looked like._

"So sorry, John. Not the Holmes brother you wanted. I do believe we are about to meet the notorious Mz. Hyde any minute. Would you prefer to talk to her, or would you rather I do? You'll most likely keep your head, whereas I, like my brother, will not." Mycroft's voice echoed from behind me.

"Did she tie you to a chair?" I was on the verge of laughter, when a pain shot up from my ribs. With a gasp, I remembered why I hadn't tried moving yet. _Sherlock, if you don't save me from this, I swear to the God that is Andrew Lloyd Webber, I will never forgive you for taking me to the opera to watch Love Never Dies. _

"John, if I were you, subliminally messaging my brother is a waste of time. He will never respond to that. We both have trackers, or at least I still do. You haven't been cut, have you?" Mycroft's voice was slightly louder now, and more pained.  
"No, she just broke at least three ribs, and may have given me a concussion. Who is she to you and Sherlock? It's a curious thing, to be hated that much."

"She is someone who I have known for a very long time. She actually sings at the Royal Albert Hall sometimes, but her most notable performance hasn't happened, and never will. She was an MI6 operative, and her vocal cords have gotten damaged. So badly, in fact, that she will never be able to sing the aria for 'Love Never Dies'. Have you guessed who she is yet?"

"We were told that the diva had died. Mycroft, you really need to tell Sherlock that she's alive. When Anastasia died, I thought that he would never talk about his home life ever again. She's your SISTER, damn it! Does family really mean so little to you, Mycroft?" I knew it wasn't my place to shout at Mycroft, but I was getting really tired of his domineering crap. Just as I was plotting ways to make Mycroft pay for lying to us, the very woman in question opened the door. She flipped on a light, and the striking profile of Anastasia Holmes came into view.

"Untie John Watson, and bring him over to the closest mirror. He needs to see what I am going to apologize for." She gave this command to a man over her shoulder, and as he came into view, she stopped him. His face was badly scarred. "Look upon your work, Brother. This is what happened to us that day. This is what happened to us the day you left us all for dead, and gave up our names and operation. All for the 'Greater Good' of the country." Her face was twisted with rage, and the scar tissue at the top of her collarbone was white, raised, and looked painful.

"Why do you need to apologi-" I stopped when I saw my face in the mirrors that surrounded the entire room. It was bloodied and bruised, and I almost didn't recognize myself, except for the fact that I still had scars across my upper right eye ridge.

"When I sent out Erik and Sebastian for you, they forgot that you were to be unharmed. Sherlock couldn't have known that I was alive, so I can forgive this. But what Mycroft has forgotten about me, is that I have a penchant for revenge. And dear Mycroft, what happened to the begging me to stay away from the opera house? "_Perhaps she won't go on. Perhaps she'll lose her nerve."_ I hope your blindness will make up for what you've done to me. And to Erik, as well."

"Anastasia Andromeda Holmes, I will not beg you to let us go, but I will request that you leave John and Sherlock out of this. Also, please let my death be the last of your killings. Dear Ana, you cannot think that killing all of us will result in anything except your eventual removal from society completely. I surrender to your charms, Ana."

"I always wondered how to make you watch. Well, watch me now. Bring the child in. Brother dear, how badly would you feel if your poor son were to suffer the fate I have in mind for you. I'll make you watch, and if you really don't want to have this fate befall him, you have to tell me one thing. Can you do it? Apologize for asking me to take a little trip to that island. A trip I took because you asked me to. I did as Mummy said, and followed where it led. But here's the way it worked on that island, they made you pay for every little crumb. I gave all they could take, and I did it for your sake. Now look at me and see what I've become. I am your creation, brother. And don't I just scare you to death?" Her eyes watered as she clung onto the nephew she never got to meet, officially. A knife appeared from behind her, Erik's doing I think, and she pushed it away.

"Mistress?" The other man had come back. "There are a couple of cars out front with a 'Sherlock Holmes' and a 'Gregory Lestrade-Holmes'. They're both outside, one is making demands, and the other is in hysterics."

"Ahhh, Sherlock with be here to collect John. But Greg? Why is Greg here other than to collect the son you both cherish? Imagine my surprise when I saw my own eyes in this precious child's face. Did Michael hand you the child I had left on his doorstep and tell you that you could have him?"

"Michael wanted nothing to do with the child, and I raised him the way we were. And more, because of Greg's upbringing. We take him to the opera. We've made sure he knew he's not ours, that his mother was a Prima Donna, and that she was my sister. And I've shown him the videos we took of you, when we were in Paris at the Opera Populaire. All this I've done out of respect for you."

"How very sentimental. Do you know what happened on that island though? While I was trying to stay alive, and I was trying to fix my voice, someone came to me and asked me for my help. He said he could help me make a new start, if I could be his muse for the new play he was writing. And now, the only thing stopping me from ever singing in an opera house is beauty."

"JOHN! John are you alright? I swear I'll kill whoever did this to…" Sherlock's fear for my life showed on his face, before draining of all color at the sight of his sister. "Annie? Is it- How can you- MYCROFT!"

"Yes, dearest. Mycroft. I was willing to make you pay for his sins as well, but when he told me you didn't know, I couldn't bring myself to do it. You two are free to take the child and go, but Mycroft and I have some business to attend to." With that, she passed the boy to me, and turned around to Mycroft.

"Annie, just remember that you can still come home. Mummy will be overjoyed that you are alive, and we could get you a spot in the Opera again. Please, Annie, think of the consequences of what you are doing." Sherlock's pleading hit a soft spot in his sister's resolve, and she turned to face him. Her face was tear-streaked, and her mind was at war with itself.

"Sherlock, he won't let me go. Until my revenge is complete, he can still take my voice. He owns my voice, and with it, my soul."

"Tell me who this is, I'm sure we can find a way to break his hold on you. Not hold is absolute, and if we can know who he is, we can help. Annie, please, let me help you. Let me be the big brother and save you. Let me do this one last time."

"He never told me his name, but I could describe him as easily as if he were standing here." The look of fear on her face made everything about her sharper, and that's the last thing I can remember before I woke up 3 weeks later.

A/N ~well my little minions, who feels they are deserving of the next chapter? Or shall I be as mean as our dark overlords Moffat and Gatiss, and leave you wondering?


	6. One More Night

~A/N not that you guys REALLY deserve this chapter, here. enjoy it while it lasts. thinking of becoming a FEM!Moffatiss, and going dark for a while. no one really reads this anyway.. none of the A/N anyway.~

One More Night: Sherlock

"John?" I hoped he could hear me. It was my fault that he was here, after all. I couldn't have possibly calculated the rate of Erik's wrath. He had moved faster than any of us ever thought hired muscle could. Upon my sister uttering a description of her captor, he had moved up behind me and was going to shoot, but John pushed the gun away. And at the sound of a shot, he was crumpled on the floor, bleeding from head trauma. Sebastian moved and struck a killing blow to the back of his head, and Erik stumbled and fell. He didn't move again. By the time we had gotten John to St. Bart's, he had lost so much blood, I thought we might have had to arrange a funeral before a wedding.

"Mr. Holmes? You have to leave, visiting hours are over. You can come back tomorrow and sit with him. We'll let you know if there is any change to him." The attending nurse was a busybody who didn't listen to my protests of 'I'm his immediate family' or 'He needs me to be here.' I finally told her to call the attending physician and I'd clear it with her. When she rounded the corner, I had to do a double take.

"Molly? Don't you usually work downstairs? How are you the attending physician for John?"

"Sherlock, when you 'died', he sunk into a deep depression, and because I knew you both the best out of the doctors here, I got assigned to him. Since then, anytime he comes in, I'm the leading doctor who sees him."

"Thank you, Molly. I never meant to be so cruel to you. I just didn't want to let anyone in. You've been a good friend to me and to John. Can you clear me to stay with him? Please, Molly, it'd mean so much to us both."

"You shouldn't have to ask me, Sherlock, or anyone else for that matter. He's your fiancé, and I'll not deny you the opportunity to sit with him while he's not well. This coma, it's not looking very good. It's been a week, Sherlock. His brain will shut down fully soon. If it does, and it puts his life beyond recall, can you bring yourself to pull the plug?"

"Only if you can give me the guarantee that should it come to it, and I cannot, you will."

She nodded and swiftly strode off. It the next week became a tango with Death. Every day, his brain would fluctuate showing some activity, and then return to minimal. It seemed to be a tug-of-war between Death and I. Both of us wanted him, and only one of us needed him. I started to notice things back at our flat, things that got more and more painful the longer he was gone. I started to write letters, not quite 'Dear John' letters, even though that's how they started.

_Dear John,_

_It's now the end of the second week without you home. I'm going crazy, John. Crazier than usual. Annie apologizes profusely each day that you are still in the hospital. Mycroft has had all the charges dropped against her, on the grounds that she was being forced into it. We always knew that it would be Annie who went crazy first, but we never thought it would be because of someone controlling her._

_Yours, in love and regret,_

_Sherlock Holmes_

_Dear John,_

_It's the beginning of the third week since you've been hospitalized. I know how you must have felt when I 'died'. I'm sorry you had to endure this pain._

_Yours,_

_Sherlock_

_Dear John,_

_They tried to get me to pull the plug, but I told them to 'Piss off'. I'm giving you your best shot at this, but if you don't wake up soon, they're going to make me pull the plug. Please John, come back to us. To me. I need to have you here._

_Yours,_

_Sherlock_

_Dear John,_

_I'm writing this beside your hospital bed today. If you don't wake up by tomorrow, they're going to make me pull the plug. And if I cannot do it, if I cannot sign your death warrant, they'll have Molly Hooper do it instead. John Hamish Watson, you have to wake up! Wake up or I swear I'll kill you myself when you do! Please John, please. I'm begging, and you know I don't beg. Just give me one last chance to say goodbye. Just one more night. Help me say goodbye._

_Yours for eternity,_

_Sherlock Holmes_

Those were the last words I wrote that night, and I, Sherlock Holmes, cried myself to sleep. I've been told repeatedly that I don't have a heart, but that's not true. My heart beats in another's chest, but that heart is going to die, and then all the allegations of me having no heart will be true. But until the second that he does, my heart is breaking. If he dies, I'll be the same person I was before I met him; cold, ruthless to a fault, and rude. _One more night, if only._ My thoughts were getting darker, and a lot worse than just in grief. Murderous. But the man who had done this to John was already dead, and I couldn't blame my sister. Annie would never do this intentionally, not if it was just revenge. We had our own ways to exact revenge on those who hurt or betrayed us. It was about 3 in the morning before I slept, and it was fitful.

"Sherlock? Sherlock!" Molly's voice pulled me out of my sleep. She was looking very agitated. "Sherlock, his brainwaves spiked again, and this time they continued climbing! He should be ok!" Her complexion was lit up, and if I didn't prefer John, I could see myself with Dr. Molly Hooper.

"Is he awake yet?"

"Not yet, Sherlock. But he will be soon."

"Can I go in, Molly? I'd like to be there when he wakes up."

"Of course, Sherlock. You don't have to ask. You are his family now."

"Thank you, Molly. It means the world to me." With that we both took off down the hall, laughing all the way. If it had been allowed I think we would have run down the hall to get there faster, but alas, we could not. The boorish nurse who had been in there before was there again, and as Molly and I came barreling through the door, proceeded to shoot nasty looks at us from the bedside. I moved to the other side of his bed, took his hand, and just sat there. I had been given until 11:59 that night to decide if I wanted to pull the plug. I tightened my grip on his hand, and felt something move. I loosened my grip on his hand, and his tightened.

"Molly! He's moving! He's finally waking up!" The sheer joy I felt at just this little movement tripled when her eyes practically glowed with happiness. The chances of someone waking up after three weeks are slim, but here was John, fighting his way back from Death's grip.

"Sh- Sherlock? Molly, where's Sherlock?"I flew from my perch in the corner of the room to his side. He was going to be alright, and we were going to be going home within a week, after his tests were done. Home to 221b Baker Street. Back to the cases that we both loved, full of danger and excitement. It's going to be time for a wedding soon, and thankfully not a funeral. The welcome back was going to be a huge party. Welcoming him back with a BANG!


End file.
